Rhiannon

Disappointingly, there is a massive quarry here now. But there was a rath, a souterrain, and a naturally rocky craggy place.

Cleena had one of her palaces in the centre of a great rock, situated about five miles from Mallow, still well known by the name of Carrig-Cleena, and there is a legend attached to it, recounted by Windele, from which Cleena’s moral character appears to have been doubtful. A market or fair was held in the neighbourhood; and on these occasions she came out of her abode and carried off every good-looking young man at the fair who pleased her. It was told how a peasant one evening had seen the whole space about the rock brilliantly lighted up, the entrance door thrown open, and a fair lady standing within. Some people cultivated the ground around th rock with potatoes; but Cleena was heard within piteously wailing, as if lamenting the desecration, and the men desisted.

[...] Even Cleena had a more estimable side to her character. Some of the peasantry of the country around Carrig Cleena regard her in the light of a benefactress. In her neighbourhood no cattle die from the influence of the evil eye, nor the malignant power of the unfriendly spirits of the air. Her goodness preserves the harvest from the blights which dissipate the farmer’s hopes. The peasantry are the children of her peculiar care. She often appears, disguised in the homely garb of a peasant girl, to announce to some late wayfarer the expulsion from her dominions of invading spirits, and the consequent certainty of an abundant harvest.

From Traces of the Elder Faiths of Ireland by W G Wood-Martin (1902).

The NMS record quotes ‘Berry 1905’ “A wild and romantic spot... a rude elevation, surrounded by a rampart of huge rocks, towering over the country round, and enclosing about two acres of very green ground” – there was a soutterrain inside the fort which was ‘said locally’ to connect the rocks and the fort.

The quarriers didn’t get it all their own way though. This forum has someone saying “I rem as a child hearing it had a quarry and the machinery used to break down, go on fire etc. and it was blamed on Clíona, queen of the fairies and it didn’t stop until a mass was said there. ” and another person recalls the mass being about 30 years ago.

There are many variations on the fairy queen’s name of Clíodhna. Anne Ross (’Pagan Celtic Britain’) connects her with the British Rhiannon, as they both have three otherworldly birds as assistants (as you may see here and here).

In the townland of Carrigmoorna, county Waterford, there is a conical hill, crowned by a large rock, in which dwells the enchantress Murna. When the wind blows strongly in certain directions it produces in some crevices of the rock a loud roar, and the country people state that this sound is the humming of Murna’s spinning wheel.

From Traces of the Elder Faiths of Ireland by W G Woodmartin, 1902.

There is a standing stone 30m E of the summit of the hill. The NMS record says it is diamond shaped in cross section and 1.15m high.

Mr. W. J. Knowles, M.R.I.A., secretary for county Antrim to the Council of the present Society of Antiquaries of Ireland, states that he knew instances where the posessor of a few flint implements refused to part with them, as he found it more profitable to hire them out to neighbours, for the purpose of curing cattle, than it would be to sell them. Theis writer also remarks that, in reference to the employment of flint arrow-heads and spear-heads in curing cattle, he received recently an account from an aged man, who lives not far from Ballymena, of how the ceremony of cattle-curing was carried on in his young days:-

“He had a neighbour, a very respectable farmer, who was a cow-doctor, and who had a considerable number of beautiful flint arrow-heads, by means of which he effected cures in the case of cattle which were ill. This cow-doctor invariably found that the animal was either ‘elf-shot’ or ‘dinted,’ or it might be suffering from both troubles. When ‘elf-shot,’ I suspect the arrow had pierced the hide; and when ‘dinted,’ I imagine there was only an indentation, which the doctor could feel as easily as the holes. When he was called in to see a cow which was ill, he would feel the hide all over, and find, or pretend to find, holes or indentations, and would call on anyone present to feel them. He would then assure the owner that he would very soon cure the cow. My informant told me that the man’s usual expression when he found the holes was, in his own local language, ‘Begor, we hae found the boy noo,’ meaning that he had found the cause of the beast’s ailment. Some gruel would now have to be prepared, into which he would put a few of his arrow-heads, a piece of silver, usually a sixpence, and he would also add some sooty matter which he had previously scraped from the bottom of the pot. When all had been boiled well together, and was ready for use, he would take a mouthful and blow it into the animal’s ears, another mouthful and blow it over her back, and then he would give the remainder to the cow to drink, and would go away, assuring the owner that she would soon be better. I understand he was generally successful in effecting cures, and was held in high estimation as a cow-doctor. My informant said he was often sent for by Lord Mountcashel’s agent, when he lived in Galgorm Castle, to prescribe for cattle which were ill. There must, however, have been sceptics in those days, as I am told that the poor cow-doctor was often jocularly asked to examine a cow that was in perfectly good health, and that there was considerable merriment when he pronounced her to be both ‘elf-shot’ and ‘dinted’. ”

From Traces of the Elder Faiths of Ireland‘ by W.G. Wood-Martin (1902).

An interesting section follows about the market in passing off faked arrow-heads as the real thing.

Knuck Fierna.
The hill of the fairies. This is the loftiest mountain in the county abovenamed, and lifts its double peak on the Southern side, pretty accurately, I believe, dividing it from Cork. Numberless are the tales related of this hill by the carmen who have been benighted near it on their return from the latter city, which is the favourite market for the produce of their dairies. That there is a Siobrug or fairy castle in the Mount, no one in his senses presumes to entertain a doubt. On the summit of the highest peak is an unfathomable well, which is held in very great veneration by the peasantry. It is by some supposed to be the entrance to the court of their tiny mightinesses. A curious fellow at one time had the hardihood to cast a stone down the orifice; and then casting himself on his face and hands, and leaning over the brink, waited to ascertain the falsity of this supposition by the reverberation, which he doubted not would soon be occasioned by the missile reaching the bottom. But he met with a fate scarce less tragical than that of poor Pug, who set fire to the match of a cannon, and then must needs run to the mouth to see the shot go off. Our speculator had his messenger returned to him with a force that broke the bridge of his nose, locked up both his eyes, and sent him down the hill at the rate of four furlongs per second, at the foot of which he was found senseless next morning.

From The Literary Gazette v8, 1824.
A much longer version is told in ‘Fairy Legends and Traditions‘ by Thomas Crofton Croker (1825).

Williamstown.

On the farm of Mr. Watchorn in this townland there is a very fine stone with rounded corners. It is marked ‘Gallan’ on the Ordnance map. Its height is six feet six inches and its greatest girth is thirteen feet two inches. There are two groovings on the west face, one very large on on the south, and three on the east. The large grooving on the south is two feet six inches long, and one foot wide at the top. The others vary in length from two feet six inches to one foot eight inches.

Locally this stone is called ‘the six Fingers.’ There is a tradition that it was thrown there by Finn Mac Cumhail from the top of Eagle Hill, Hacketstown.

Another tradition states that it rolls down occasionally to get a drink at the River Derreen, which flows close by. The same story is told by John McCall in his History of Clonmore about Killahookaun Big Stone, a large natural boulder of granite on the county boundary on Killalongford Hill.

From ‘A group of grooved standing stones in North Carlow’ by E O’Toole and G F Mitchell, in The Journal of the Royal Society of Antiquaries of Ireland, v9 no2 (Jun 30th 1939).

Cloghstuckagh.

This stone stands in the townland of Glenoge, parish of Grangeforth, on the farm of the late Mr. Dunne. The name is spelled variously. In the Field Name Book it is written Cloghstuckagh, and translated by O’Donovan as ”Cloch Stucach, or Standing Stone”; in the Co. Carlow Ordnance Survey Sheets it is marked Glochstathagh, and locally it is called Cloughstodagh (cloch stadadh), the ‘Five Fingers,’ and the ‘Giant Stone.‘

The reference to the stone in the O.S. Letters is as follows:--

“A stone called Cloch Stucach stands on Mr. Dunne’s farm in the townland of Glinnogue which tradition says was thrown by a giant [Finn Mac Cumhail] from Mount Leinster. There are indents on it which are said to be the tracks of his fingers.”

The stone, which is a remarkable one, is flat on the south side and curved on the north. It is 5 1/4 feet in height and on the north side has five groovings or indents which bear a rough resemblance to the traces left by the fingers of a man’s hand. The indent representing the longest finger is six feet in length, five inches wide and four inches deep; the others are in proportion.

An urn and a 6” ‘bone needle’ were found when Mr. Dunne dug around the stone.
From ‘A group of grooved standing stones in North Carlow’ by E O’Toole and G F Mitchell, in The Journal of the Royal Society of Antiquaries of Ireland, v9 no2 (Jun 30th 1939).

This massy Stone measuring 12 Feet one way and 6 another, which must from the specifick Gravity of like Solids, weigh betwixt 30 and 40 Ton-weight; by the Inhabitants of the Country is called the Giant’s Load, and the Native Irish tell a strange Story about it, relating how the whole was brought all at once from the neighbouring Mountains, by a Giant called Parrah bough McShagjean,and who they say was buried near this Place.

The Grave or Cell of Stone-work they shew for it is about 20 Feet long and 5 Broad, and several Bones of a monstrous Size they affirm to have been dug up there.

From ‘Louthiana’ by Thomas Wright (1758).

In ‘The Legend of Proleek’ J H Lloyd is appalled by the “barbarous spelling” of the giant’s name above. He deduces from the following story that it may really be ‘Para beaj Mac Seroin’ *here as below I am having to use the English versions of the Gaelic letters. I think he tries to explain the discrepancy by saying ‘beaj (beag)’ is ‘small’ and mor is ‘large’, it’s a sort of ironic / sarcastic name to call a giant ‘small’.

[The legend] is recorded in the Ordnance Survey Letters of Co. Louth. The names of the two humble, painstaking scholars who noted it down should be mentioned. They are T. O’Conor and J. O’Keeffe, to whom the antiquarian work in Co. Louth was entrusted. Their letter, dealing with the Parish of Ballymascanlan, contains the following:-

“In Proleek T. L. (*Prailic) is a Giant’s grave 7 yards long, 2 1/2 yds. broad at the shoulders, and 1 1/2 yds. at the feet. The head points to the S. and the feet to the N. Large stones fixed in the ground defend the grave on every side; there is one large stone across the feet which
--“scarce ten men could raise,
Such men as live in these degen’rate days.”

They say it is the grave of (*Para burde mor Mac Seordin), a Scotch giant, who came to challenge Fin Mac Coole, and of whom they tell a story similar to the story of Feardhiadh. Para buidhe mor asked Fin’s wife where he (Fin) used to eat; Fin, she told him, when he was hungry would kill one of those bullocks (pointing to them), roast him and eat him. Para went and did the same; the spot on which he killed, roasted, and ate the bullock, is pointed out yet; it is a hollow in a green field a little to the South of the grave. When he had eaten he went to the river which runs near the spot, to satisfy his thirst; but Fin threw the poison into the river, by which means he despatched him.

A little to the North of the grave there is a large stone computed by the people to be 60 tons weight, supported on three smaller rude stones. It is in some places 6 ft. from the ground, in others 8 ft., and it is said to have been fixed by Fionn Mac Cumhail and Para buidhe mor Mhac Seoidin.”

The Legend of Proleek, JH Lloyd. In ‘Journal of the County Louth Archaeological Society’ vol 1, no.3, Sept 1906.

In the same volume there’s an article on ‘Louthiana: Ancient and Modern’ by Henry Morris. He says:

The small stones seen in the illustration on the top of Proleek Cromlech have been thrown up there in obedience to a curious belief. Young unmarried people, chiefly of the fair sex, throw up three stones on the cromlech in order to find out if they will get married within a year. Owing to the rounded back of the cromlech it is very difficult to fix a stone on the top, but if the consultor of this oracle succeeds in placing the three stones on the top he or she is almost certain of marriage; one or two placed above denotes a probability, while if all the stones fall the chances are nil.

It’s only a short walk from the circle to a holy well, which curiously has the type of don’t-mess-with-stones folklore that you’d often associate with prehistoric stones themselves. So that’s my excuse for adding the following:

The well of St. Cuby [or Cybi] was a spring of water on the left-hand side of the [road which leads from Sandplace to Duloe Church], which flowed into a circular basin of granite, carved and ornamented round the edge with the figures of dolphins, and on the lower part with the figure of a griffin; it is in shape somewhat like a font, with a drain for the carrying off of the water.
The well at one time was very much respected, and treated with reverence by the neighbouring people, who believed that some dire misfortune would befal the person who should attempt to remove it. Tradition says that a ruthless fellow once went with a team of oxen for the purpose of removing the basin; on reaching the spot one of the oxen fell down dead, which so alarmed the man that he desisted from the attempt. In spite of this tradition, however, the basin has been moved, probably when the new road was cut, and was taken to the bottom of the woods on the Trenant estate; it is now placed in Trenant Park.

From Ancient and Holy Wells of Cornwall by M and L Quiller-Couch (1894).
There are some photos on the Megalithic Portal including the interesting carvings on the moved font, which is now in the church.

Beyond the Nine Maidens seaward is the great serrated range of granite rocks, Carn Galva, so conspicuous an object for several miles in nearly every direction. Somewhere amongst the rocks in this carn is the Giant’s Cave, in ages long gone by the abode of a giant named Holiburn. My informant could not point out the locality of this cave, her knowledge of it having been derived from hearing her “old man,” now dead, speaking about it some thirty or fourty years ago. It is of the rarest occurrence to hear the name of a giant mentioned in the recital of any oral tradition in this district; and, as a general rule, even those who best remember the stories current in their childhood have no recollection of ever having heard the giants alluded to by distinctive names.

From Rambles in Western Cornwall by the footsteps of the giants

, by J O Halliwell (1861).

In the parish of Sancred there is a Well whose Water rises in the same kind of soil as Madern Well; and as a witness of its having done remarkable cures, it has a chapel adjoining to it, dedicated to St. Euinus; the ruins of which, consisting of much carved stone, bespeak it to have been formerly of no little note. The Water has the reputation of drying humours, as well as healing wounds and sores. It gives no perceivable evidence of any mineral impregnation; neither need it to produce the effect attributed to it, for certain it is, that the mere coldness of Water will work surprizing cures; wounds, sores, aches, disordered eyes, and the like, are often cured by that quality only; the cold by bracing up the nerves and muscles, and strengthening the glands, promotes secretion and circulation, the two great ministers of health.

In the northern kingdoms they are so sensible that all extraordinary defluxions of humours are owing to too great a relaxation of the parts, that they keep carefully the water of snow gathered in March, and apply it as a general remedy for most diseases: but the common people (of this as well as other countries) will not be contented to attribute the benefit they receive to ordinary means; there must be something marvellous in all their cures.

I happened luckily to be at this Well upon the last day of the year on which (according to the vulgar opinion) it exerts its principal and most salutary powers: two women were here who came from a neighbouring parish, and were busily employed in bathing a child: they both assured me, that people who had a mind to receive any benefit from St. Euny’s Well, must come and wash upon the three first Wednesdays in May. But to leave folly to its own delusion, it is certainly very gracious in Providence to distribute a remedy for so many disorders in a quality so universally found as cold is in unmixed Well-water.

Cynicism from William Borlase, in his Natural History of Cornwall, 1758.

Borlase was less impressed. But he was the reverend at Ludgvan. So he probably couldn’t be officially doing with too much superstitious behaviour.

The soil round Madern Well, in the parish of Madern, is black, boggy, and light, but the stratum through which the Spring rises, is a grey moorstone gravel, called, by the Cornish, Grouan. Here people who labour under pains, aches, and stiffness of limbs, come and wash, and many cures are said to have been performed, although the Water can only act by its cold and limpid nature, forasmuch as it has no perceivable mineral impregnation. Hither also upon much less justifiable errands come the uneasy, impatient, and superstitious, and by dropping pins or pebbles into the Water, and by shaking the ground round the Spring, so as to raise bubbles from the bottom, at a certain time of the year, Moon, and day, endeavour to settle such doubts and enquiries as will not let the idle and anxious rest. Here therefore they come, and, instead of allaying, deservedly feed their uneasiness; the supposed responses serving equally to increase the gloom of the melancholy, the suspicions of the jealous, and the passion of the enamoured. As great a piece of folly as this is, ‘tis a very ancient one. The Castalian Fountain, and many others among the Grecians, was supposed to be of a prophetic nature.

From The Natural History of Cornwall by William Borlase (1758).

There was formerly a place also called the Giant’s Chair near the Beacon in Sancreed, a cromlech, the covering-stone of which had slipped down, and so formed a sort of wide seat.

From Rambles in Western Cornwall by J O Halliwell (1861).

A fine Cromlech near the Beacon, whose appearance, in consequence of the upper stone having slipped off at its back, entitled it in the opinion of the country people to the name of the “Giant’s chair” has been broken up within the last five years.

in the Royal Cornwall Gazette, 22nd December 1843.

About two miles from Colurrian is the fine and picturesque granite hill, Trecrobben, from the top of which are perhaps seen the most extensive views of the country to be met with in any spot in the whole district [...] The entrance into this enclosure from the Hayle side is in a tolerably perfect state, being nearly twenty feet wide, with large upright blocks of granite at the inner corners. Opposite to this, on the other side, is another entrance of a similar character. The large vallum does not form a perfect circle, but is turned out of its regular course in order to unite it with two carns, between which was another entrance nearly opposite Trink hill, and which we may call the principal gateway. On the largest of these carns are some rock-basons, known respectively as the Giant’s Chair, the Giant’s Cradle, and the Giant’s Spoon.

[...] Outside the vallum at Trecrobben, or, as it is called by the rustics, Trancrom, is the Giant’s Well; and on the fourth side of the hill is a large block of granite, known as the Twelve o’ Clock Stone, – a sort of natural sun-dial, on which the rays of the sun fall in such a manner, that the miners of the neighbourhood can tell the hour of noon by the direction of the shadows. There is another stone so called on the brow of Trink hill. About half-a-mile from Trecrobben hill, at Beersheba, is a large stone known in the neighbourhood as the Giant’s Bowl.

From Rambles in Western Cornwall by the footsteps of the giants by J O Halliwell (1861).

Giant’s Chair, Godolphin Hill.
On the S.W. slope of this hill is a very fine mass of rock, which has naturally assumed the shape of a chair. The back gradually slants off into an angle and surmounts the seat, which is much smoothed by attrition from the frequent use to which it has been put for sitting purposes by the neighbouring inhabitants. The seat is large enough to hold three persons, comfortably, and therefore we may reasonably suppose that the giant from whom it takes its name was three times as large as an ordinary human being. And he must have been at least as large as this, if, as the legend tells, he were able to hurl huge blocks of granite as far as Prospidnick, (where they formed the staple of the adjoining granite quarries,) a distance of close upon four miles, as the crow flies. He chose this rock as his chair to repose his wearied limbs after his exertions. The chair faces the hill so that there was no prospect to distract the giant’s attention from sleep.

From Cornish Chairs by the Rev. S. Rundle, in v14 of the Journal of the Royal Institution of Cornwall (1900).
I can’t see this marked on maps. But maybe it’s noticeable if it’s still there? The Bronze/Iron age people that lived here must have known it at least.

At Hangman’s Barrow in St. Crowan, (which is really Men-an, the stone), a legend has been coined to suit the title. A man murdered a man and his wife, and tried to take the life of their little son, but the little boy took refuge in a “cundered” (culvert), and so escaped with his life. Many years afterwards, when the boy had grown to man’s estate, and was driving a cart, he overtook a tired way-farer, and gave him a lift. It happened that their journey took them past the very place where the murder had been perpetrated, and the traveller, becoming garrulous, pointed to the spot, and said “Years ago, it was there I killed a buck and doe, but their young got into that cundered, where I could not get at him, and so he escaped.” The feelings of the son may be well imagined when he heard his parent’s murder so brutally and callously alluded to, but he said nothing until he could procure assistance, when he delivered the ruffian into the hands of justice. Soon after he was sentenced to death by the lingering mode of exposure in an iron cage. And from this very circumstance, though not even according to the above facts, the carn of stones took the name of “Hangman’s Barrow.”

Surely in the running for ‘most useless megalithic folklore story’, this is from Rev. S Rundle’s Cornubiana in the Journal of the Royal Institution of Cornwall v14 (1899-1900).

.. on the beach at the foot of the hill is the “Chapel Rock” whereon once stood an oratory of which Leland speaks of “a little chapel yn the sande nere by the towne toward the Mount,” and where (on what authority I know not) many of our local histories tell us pilgrims were wont to halt before making the ascent.

But the Chapel Rock has other interests than that derived from the building that once stood on it. Having already carried off the top of the neighbouring hill of Trencrom, to make the Mount itself, Cormoran was in want of further stones wherewith to build his castle, and sent his wife to fetch them from the same place. She, thinking (womanlike) that any other stone would do as well, fetched this one from the nearer hill of Ludgvan-lees. Angry at her conduct, the monster slew her with his mighty foot, and the great rock rolled from her apron and fell where we now see it; a silent witness to the lady’s strength and the truth of the narrative.

Maybe the hill of Ludgvan-lees is the one at Castle-an-Dinas. From Notes on St. Michael’s Mount by Thurstan C Peter, in the Journal of the Royal Institution of Cornwall v14 (1899-1900).

Maderne, called also St Maderne, a parish situate under the craggie hills north of Penzance, nere which is a well called Maderne Well, whose fame in former ages was great; for the supposed vertue of healinge, which St Maderne had therinto infused: And manie votaries made annale pilgrimages unto it, as they doe even at this daye unto the well of St Winifride, beyounde Chester, in Denbigheshire, whereunto thowsands doe yearly make resorte: But of late St Maderne hath denied his or hers (I know not whether) pristine ayde; and as he is coye of his Cures, so now are men coye of cominge to his conjured Well; yet soom a daye resorte.

From the Cornwall section of Speculi Britanniae, by John Norden (written 1610 but published 1728).

At Chapel Uny will be found a copious spring of as clear water as was ever seen. The only remains that can be identified, as having belonged to its ancient chapel, are a few dressed stones near the well. These, from their shape, would seem to have formed part of an arched door or window.

Near by there is also a large circular Fogou, or artificial cavern, walled on both sides and partly covered with long slabs of moorstone. The Holy Well is, hoever, the most celebrated object in this vicinity; a few years ago, it was resorted to on the first three Wednesdays in May by scores of persons who had great faith in the virtue of its waters, which were considered very efficacious for curing most diseases incidental to childhood, and many ricketty babes are still bathed there at the stated times when the spring is believed to possess the most healing powers.

Belonging to this well and its neighbourhood there is a somewhat curious story, which we will relate just as it has often been told us by old people of the West Country.

Hence follows the ultimately rather sad story of ‘The Changeling of Brea Vean’. From Traditions and Hearthside Stories of West Cornwall by William Bottrell (1873).

Old traditions say that the headlands of Castle Treen, or rather Trereen, on which the Logan Rock carn and adjacent crags stand, was raised out of the sea by enchantment. This portion of the stronghold, enclosed by the inner line of defence, running directly across the isthmus, is generally spoken of as The Castle, and that between it and the outer or landward embankments is usually called Treen Dynas.

It is not known what powerful magician raised this giant’s hold, though it was believed that its security depended on a magic stone called “the key of the Castle,” respecting which Merlin had something to say, as well as about many other remarkable stones in the neighbourhood. Castle Treen, however, must have stood where it is long before Arthur and his magician visited West Cornwall.

The key was an egg-shaped stone, between two and three feet long, which was contained in the cavity of a rock with a hole facing the sea, through which it might be turned round; and the opening appeared large enough for it to be passed through. Many attempted to get it out, but they always found it to hitch somewhere; and lucky (according to old folks’ faith) that it did, because the sage Merlin prophecied that when the key of the Castle was taken out of the hole, Men Amber (the holy rock) would be overthrown, the Castle sink beneath the ocean, and other calamities occur.

The key was situated near the bottom of a deep chasm called The Gap, which is passed on approaching the Logan Rock by the usual path. It required a sure-footed climber, of strong nerve, to reach it, and this could only be done from land, at low water, or nearly so.

Surging waves occasionally changed the position of this magic stone, and from the direction of its smaller end, as it lay in a trough of water, prognostics were drawn with regard to the seasons, &c.

Few persons had sufficient hardihood to descend the precipitous cliff and risk being caught in The Gap by a flowing tide; and the key of the Castle remained a mysterious and venerated object till Goldsmith’s mischievous tars, or the dockyard men who were employed in erecting machinery to replace Men Amber (as the stone they overthrew was formerly called) heard of it and the traditions connected therewith. Then, one day, some of these wretches, on farther mischief bent, entered The Gap in a boat, and, being provided with crow bars, they broke away the edges of the rock that enclosed the key, ripped it out, and tumbled it down among the sea-washed pebbles! Some calamity has surely befallen these wretches ere this, or Bad Luck is a mere name, and powerless as an avenging deity.

Part of Merlin’s prophecy was fulfilled, however, yet not in the order predicted.

The venerated nodule was what is called, among miners, a “bull’s eye,” or “pig’s egg,” of large size. It appeared to be a closer-grained and harder stone than what surrounded it.

From Traditions and Hearthside Stories of West Cornwall by William Bottrell (1873).

Immediately afterwards is a long (long) story about the giants of Castle Treen. And something about the fairies there too. And finally, about the witches that used it as a flying-off point. Pretty crowded spot.

Many years ago, on Midsummer’s eve, when it became dusk, very old people in the West Country would hobble away to some high ground, whence they obtained a view of the most prominent hills, such as Bartinney, Chapel Carn-brea, Sancras Bickan, Castle-an-Dinas, Carn Galver, St. Agnes Bickan, and many other beacon hills far away to north and east, which vied with each other in their Midsummer’s blaze. They counted the fires and drew a presage from the number of them. There are now but few bonfires to be seen on the western heights; yet we have observed that Tregonan, Godolphin, and Carn Marth hills, with others away towards Redruth, still retain their Baal fires. We would gladly go many miles to see the wierd-looking, yet picturesque, dancers around the flames on a carn, or high hill top, as we have seen them some forty years ago.

From Traditions and Hearthside Stories of West Cornwall by William Bottrell (1873).

I was told that some remarkable cures had been effected [at the Holed Stone at St. Constantine] only a few weeks since. The ceremony consists of passing the child nine times through the hole, alternately from one side to the other; and it is essential to success that the operation should finish on that side where there is a little grassy mound, recently made, on which the patient must sleep, with a six-pence under his head. A trough-like stone, called the ‘cradle’, on the eastern side of the barrow, was formerly used for this purpose. This stone, unfortunately, has long been destroyed. That holed stones were not originally constructed for the observance of this peculiar custom is evident, for in some instances the holes are not more than five or six inches in diameter.

A few years ago, a person digging close to the Tolven, discovered a pit in which were fragments of pottery, arranged in circular order, the whole being covered by a flat slab of stone. Imagining that he had disturbed some mysterious place, with commendable reverence he immediately filled up the pit again.

From Traditions and Hearthside Stories of West Cornwall by William Bottrell (1873).

Not long since a tinner of Lelant dreamt, three nights following, that a crock of gold was buried in a particular spot, between large rocks within the castle, on Trecroben hill. The next clear moonlight night he dug up the ground of which he had dreamt. After working two or three hours he came to a flat stone which sounded hollow; whilst digging round its edges, the weather became suddenly dark, the wind roared around the carns, and looking up, when he had made a place for his hands to lift it, he saw hundreds of ugly spriggans coming out from amidst the rocks gathering around and approaching him. The man dropped his pick, ran down the hill and home as fast as he could lay foot to ground; he took to his bed and was unable to leave it for weeks.

When he next visited the castle he found the pit all filled in, with the turf replaced; and he nevermore dug for the treasure.

I think this is better and more frightening than Robert Hunt’s more flowery version. From Traditions and Hearthside Stories of West Cornwall by William Bottrell (1873).

In a croft belonging to Lanyon farm, and about half a mile north of the town-place, there is a remarkable group of three stones, the centre one of which is called by antiquaries the Men-an-tol (holed stone), and by country folk the Crick-stone, from an old custom – not yet extinct – of “crameing” (crawling on all fours) nine times through the hole in the centre stone, going against the sun’s course, for the cure of lumbago, sciatica, and other “cricks” and pains in the back. Young children were also put through it to ensure them healthy growth. [..] The notion is that going against the sun will backen a disease but in all other cases the sun’s course must be followed.

From Traditions and Hearthside Stories of West Cornwall by William Bottrell (1873).

On passing over a stile and entering the moor in which the well is situated, cross the moor at a right-angle to the hedge, and a minute’s walk will bring one to the noted spring, which is not seen until very near, as it has no wall above the surface, nor any mark by which it can be distinguished at a distance.

Much has been written of the remarkable cures effected by its holy waters, and the intercession of St. Madron, or Motran; when it was so famous that the maimed, halt, and lame, made pilgrimages from distant parts to the heathy moor.

It is still resorted to on the first three Wednesdays in May, by some few women of the neighbourhood, who bring children to be cured of skin diseases by being bathed in it. Its old repute as a divining fount has not yet quite died out, though young folks visit it now to drop pebbles or pins into the well, more for fun and the pleasure of each other’s company, than through any belief that the falling together, or the separation of pins or pebbles, will tell how the course of love will run between the parties indicated by the objects dropped into the spring; or that the number of bubbles which rise in the water, on stamping near the well, mark the years, in answer to any question of time; but there was not such want of faith, however, half a century ago.

A short time since I visited an elderly dame of Madron, who was a highly reputed charmer for the cure of various skin ailments; I had known her from my childhood; and my object was to glean what I could about the rites practised, within her remembrance, at Madron Well, the Crick-stone, and elsewhere.

She gave the following account of the usages at Madron Well about fifty years ago. At that time, when she lived in Lanyon, scores of women from Morvah, Zennor, Towednack, and other places, brought their children to be cured of the shingles, wildfires, tetters, and other diseases, as well as to fortify them against witchcraft or being blighted with an evil eye.

An old dame called An’ Katty, who mostly lived in the Bossullows, or some place near, and who did little but knitting-work, picked up a good living in May by attending at the well, to direct the high country folks how they were to proceed in using the waters.

First she had the child stripped as naked as it was born; then it was plunged three times against the sun; next the creature was passed quickly nine times around the spring, going from east to west, or with the sun; the child was then dressed, rolled up in something warm, and laid to sleep near the water; if it slept, and plenty of bubbles rose in the well, it was a good sign. I asked if a prayer, charm, or anything was spoken during the operations? “Why, no, to be sure,” my old friend replied, “don’t ‘e know any better, there mustn’t be a word spoken all the time they are near the water, it would spoil the spell; and a piece rented, not cut, from the child’s clothes, or from that of anybody using the well must be left near it for good luck; ever so small a bit will do. This was mostly placed out of sight between stones bordering the brooklet, or hung on a thorn that grew on the chapel wall. Whilst one party went through their rites at the spring, all the others remained over the stile in the higher enclosure, or by the hedge, because if a word were spoken by anybody near the well during the dipping, they had to come again.”

The old woman, An’ Katty, was never paid in money, but balls of yarn, and other things she might want, were dropped on the road, outside the well-moors, for her; she also got good pickings by instructing young girls how to “try for sweethearts” at the well. “Scores of maidens” – the dame’s words – “used, in the summer evenings, to come down to the well from ever so far, to drop into it pins, gravels, or any small thing that would sink.” The names of persons were not always spoken when the objects which represented them were dropped into the water; it sufficed to think of them; and as pins or pebbles remained together or separated, such would be the couple’s fate. It was only when the spring was working (rising strongly) that it was of any use to try the spells; and it was unlucky to speak when near the well at such times.

The old woman that I visited said she had never heard that any saint had anything to do with the water, except from a person who told her there was something about it in a book; nor had she or anybody else heard the water called St. Madron’s Well, except by the new gentry, who go about new naming places, and think they know more about them than the people who have lived there ever since the world was created. She never heard of any ceremony being performed at the old Chapel, except that some persons hung a bit of their clothing on a thorn tree that grew near it. High Country folks, who mostly resort to the spring, pay no regard to any saint or to anyone else, except some old women who may come down with them to show how everything used to be done.

There is a spring, not far from Bosporthenes, in Zennor, which was said to be as good as Madron Well; and children were often taken thither and treated in the same way.

Such is the substance of what the dame related; and she regarded the due observance of ancient customs as a very solemn matter.
In answer to the questions of “What was the reason for going round the well nine times? Leaving bits of clothing? Following the sun, &c.?” It was always the same reply, “Such were the old customs, and everybody knew it was unlucky to do any such work, and many things besides, against the sun’s course; no woman, who knew anything, would place pans of milk in a dairy, so as to have to unream (skim) them, in turn, against the sun, nor stir cream in that direction to make butter.

By following down the well-stream or hedge, mentioned above, we come to the Chapel. [...]

From Traditions and Hearthside Stories of West Cornwall by William Bottrell (1873).

My Curiosity having led me twice to Glastonbury within these two Years, and inquiring there into the Antiquity, History and Rarities of the Place, I was told by the Inn-keeper, where I set up my Horses,who rents a considerable Part of the Inclosure of the late dissolved Abbey, “That St. Joseph of Arimathaea landed not far from the Town, at a Place, where there was an Oak planted in memory of his landing, called the Oak of Avalon: That he and his Companions march’d thence to a Hill, near a Mile on the South side of the Town, and there being weary rested themselves, which gave the Hill the Name of Weary all Hill [...]”

and in the very Place where they rested there sprung up a miraculous Thorn Tree, which every Year at Christmas in the coldest Year and Weather, Frost, Snow or what ever else, never failed budding forth Leaves and Flowers [...]

The Holy Thorn of Glastonbury, mentioned [..] to bud and blow Yearly upon Christmas Day, grew on the South Ridge of Weary all Hill, at present called Werrall Park, a Ground now, or lately belonging to William Stroud, Esq. Whether it sprung from St. Joseph of Arimathaea’s dry Staff, stuck by him on the Ground, when he rested there, I cannot find; but, beyond all dispute, it sprung up miraculously.

It had two Trunks or Bodies till the Reign of Queen Elizabeth, in whose days a Saint like Puritan, taking offence at it, hewed down the biggest of the two Trunks, and had cut down the other Body in all likelyhood, had he not bin miraculously punished (saith my Author) by cutting his Leg, and one of the Chips flying up to his Head, which put out one of his eyes.

Though the trunk cut off was separated quite from the Root, excepting a little of the Bark, which stuck to the rest of the Body, and laid above the Ground above thirty years together; yet it still continued to flourish, as the other Part of it did which was left standing; and after this again, when it was quite taken away and cast into a Ditch, it flourished and budded as it used to do before. A Year after this, it was stolen away, not known by whom or whither; as many old Persons affirmed to Mr. Broughton, who went on purpose to Glastonbury to see this, and the other Curiosities and Antiquities of the Place.

The remaining Trunk and the Place where it grew Mr. Broughton describes, and says, “That it was as great as the ordinary Body of a man; That it was a Tree of that kind and species, in all natural respects, which we term a White Thorn; but it was so cut and mangled round about in the Bark, by engraving Peoples Names resorting thither to see it, that it was a wonder, how the Sap and Nutriment should be diffused from the Root to the Boughs and Branches therof, which were also so maimed and broken by Comers thither, that he wondred, how it could continue any Vegetation, or grow at all, yet the Arms and Boughs were spread and dilated, in a circular Manner, as far or farther, than other Trees, freed from such Impediments of like Proportion, bearing Hawes (Fruit of that kind) as fully and plentifully as others do. In a word, That the Blossoms of this Tree were such Curiosities beyond Seas, that the Bristol Merchants carried them into Foreign Parts; That it grew upon (or rather neer) the Top of an Hill, in a Pasture bare and naked of other Trees, and was a Shelter for Cattle feeding there, by reason whereof, the Pasture being great and the Cattle many, round about the Tree the Ground was bare and beaten as any Highway, Floor, or any continued trodden Place: yet this Trunk was likewise cut down by a Military Saint, as Mr. Andrew Paschal calls him, in the Rebellion which happened in King Charles the first’s time;

however, there are, at present, divers Trees from it by grafting and Inoculation preserved in the Town and Countrey adjacent. Amongst other Places, there is one in the Garden of a Currier named [blank] living in the principle Street; a second at the White Hart Inn; and a third in the Garden of William Strode, Esq. There is a Person about Glastonbury, who has a Nursery of them, who (Mr. Paschal tells us, he is informed) sells them for a Crown a peece, or as he can get.

From The History and Antiquities of Glastonbury p1, 7 and 109, published by Thomas Hearne (1722) (and written by Richard Rawlinson?).

Glastonbury also had a famous walnut tree, which always flourished for St Barnabas’s day, 11th June (details of this are on p112).

... a few are inclined to believe that the [cairn] on the mountain above the Church must be Carnedd Illog, owing to its proximity to Illog’s Well, and other names connected with [the saint’s] name; while others point to the one on the highest eminence on Croes-forwyn, as the identical one. This is known as “Y garn”, the cairn, the chief of the cains, near which is a stone called “Carreg y tair Eglwys”, the stone of the three churches, from which the old people of the neighbourhood were wont to assemble on a Sunday morning, to know which of the three church bells, Llanwddyn, Llanfihangel, or Hirnant, could be heard most distinctly on the occasion, and to obey the call of such a one, by attending Divine Service at that particular church.

It is customary, to this day, to ring the church bells of the above parishes at 9 o’clock, an hour before commencement of the service, and formerly there were three ringings, at intervals of an hour.

From Collections historical and archaeological relating to Montgomeryshire and its borders (1868).

Coflein calls it “A stone, 1.4m long, inclined at an acute angle to the ground, in a hollow by a mounain track.”

The few small stones now remaining of this carnedd stand on the boundary between the farms of Bwlch sych and Ty Croes, the present wire fence which divides the lands passing over the stones. – Visited, 7th September, 1910.

In the year 1880, this carnedd was described as being “about 82 feet in circumference, worked very irregularly with stones pitched on edge in the inner course, while the outer one was evidently built of stone and mould intermixed for a certain height” (Mont. Coll. 1880, xiii, 53). The father-in-law of the present occupier was for some weeks engaged in carting the stones from this carnedd for building purposes. While so engaged he came across “an old kettle, or an urn, containing a quantity of ashes, with something like cinders.” nothing is now known of this receptacle. The writer of the above article continues: “One side of this cairn was opened about half-a-century ago [circa 1830], when a stone chest was discovered, which was robbed of its contents during the time that intervened between the first discovery and the time it was removed.”

“It was always believed in the neighbourhood that vast booty was stored up in this huge cairn; and treasure hunters, from time to time, had made fruitless attempts to discover the same, for the more they worked, and the nearer they went, as it was supposed, to the spoil, invariably, a most terrific thunderstorm came on, and this was also the case when the chest was discovered, which was the cause of its being partly exposed for several days, before the late Thomas Jones of Cwmfedw took a pair of horses, and with the aid of strong chains contrived to remove the slab, and had it taken to cover the culvert by the old Methodist Chapel, where it still lies, doing a most serviceable work under the main road” (Mont. Coll., 1880, xiii, 54).

From An inventory of the ancient and historical monuments of the county of Montgomery (1911).

Fairy fans will find this quoted around the internet, although I don’t think it’s particularly clear what Aubrey means, or that most of it particularly relates to Hackpen Hill:

That the Fairies would steale away young children and putt others in their places; verily believed by old woemen of those dayes: and by some yet living.

Some were led away by the Fairies, as was a Hind riding upon Hakpen with corne, led a dance to ye Devises. So was a shepherd of Mr. Brown, of Winterburn-Basset: but never any afterwards enjoy themselves. He sayd that ye ground opened, and he was brought into strange places underround, where they used musicall Instruments, violls, and Lutes, such (he sayd) as Mr. Thomas did play on.

Just to be on the safe side though, keep a eye out up here. From Remains of Gentilisme and Judaisme by John Aubrey (1686-7), edited by James Britten and published 1881.

[In the village] we vainly endeavoured to procure a guide to what a good woman we talked with called “Piskie House,” on the side of Sheep’s Tor. Piskie House is a natural fissure, or narrow cavern amongst the rocks, where Elford the royalist [...] was said to take shelter for a considerable time, to avoid the pursuit of Cromwell’s troopers. One little boy told me he was afraid to go there; and his mother truly said “That it was a critical place for children.”

[...] Aloft amidst the most confused masses of rock, that looked as if they had been tossed about by the fiends in battle, in a place which seemed (so it appeared to me at least) as if inaccessible to any mortal creatuer, there was seen a somewhat projecting stone like a pent-house. Beneath was a cleft between two low rocks. This is the entrance to the palace of the Pixies, and the cavern where Elford is said to ahve found a retreat from persecution [...] How Elford could live there; how food could be conveyed to him, or how any living thing but a raven, a crow, or an eagle could make his home in such a spot, is to me, I confess, a puzzle; and had not the paintings on the interior sides of the rocks, executed by Elford, been really seen in these latter days to bear witness to the fact, I should have doubted the tradition altogether.

[... an excerpt from Mr Bray’s diary of 1802] On reaching the little hamlet of Sheepstor, we were informed by the matron of it, whom from her age and appearance we denominated the Septuagenarian Sibyl, that we might easily find out the ‘pixies’ house, where we should be careful to leave a pin, or something of equal value, as an offering to these invisible beings; otherwise they would not fail to torment us in our sleep. After thanking the good dame for her advice and information, we proceeded in search of it. [...] With a little boy for our guide, we again ascended the mountain. Leaving our horses below, we followed our conductor over some rugged rocks, till he came to one in which was a narrow fissure. On telling us this was the entrance we laughed, and said none but the pixies and himself could enter it; but, on his assuring us it was the spot, I resolved to make the attempt. With great difficulty I succeeded, and found a hollow about six feet long, four wide, and five feet high. It was formed by two rocks resting in a slanting position against another in a perpendicular direction. The cavity was certainly singularly regular, and had somewhat the form of a little hovel. A rock served for a seat, and the posture of sitting was the only one in which I could find myself at ease. A noise occasioned by the dripping of water is distinctly heard; and as the cause of it is out of sight, it produces at first a sensation somewhat approaching to surprise, till reflection tells us the occasion of it: which might possibly have prepared the mind to imagine it the resort of invisible beings.

The Rev. Mr. Polwhele, in his Devon, notices it, and in a note gives the following extract from a correspondent. “Here, I am in formed, Elford used to hide himself from the search of Cromwell’s party, to whom he was obnoxious. Hence he could command the whole country; and having some talents for painting, he amused himself with that art on the walls of his cavern, which I have been told (says Mr. Yonge of Puslinch) by an elderly gentleman who had visited this place, was very fresh in his time. The country people have many superstitious notions respecting this hole.” None of the paintings now remain on the sides of the rock.

From p v3 102, 108 and v1 p233-5 of ‘Traditions, legends, superstitions and sketches of Devonshire..’ by Anna Eliza Stothard (Bray), 1838.

Mark Beeson at Dartmoor Resource has some more information on Mr Elford, and you can see a carving said to be by him at the local church.
Dartmoor Cam shows you where it is (complete with infuriating tupperware), and The Faery Folklorist has some nice bright shots of the entrance.

Like many other works whose origin is obscured in the dim and distant past, Birrenswark Hill was regarded with something of superstitious awe. An old man brought up in the vicinity told the writer that in is boyhood the hill was regarded as an uncanny place. Few were bold enough to stroll there on Sundays or after sun-down, and against such practices his mother frequently gave him solemn warning. Some, he said, thought the ancient Britons or the Romans had something to do with these inexplicable earthworks; but the common belief was that another potent influence had a hand in the matter, who, desirous not to have his part detected, visits with elemental manifestations of displeasure such as come there to howk for hidden treasure.

The profound present-day scepticism makes no allowance for such wanderings in superstition as these, but some measure of excuse is properly due in circumstances unusual which may sometimes occur. The writer having occasion to visit the hill for the purpose of conferring with an officer of the Society of Antiquaries of Scotland, on reaching the south camp, found the place wholly enveloped in a desne fog, and no one could be seen. Shortly, however, conversation was overheard, and the desired meeting ensued. The effect of the mist was curious and interesting. Normal dimensions disappeared, and the ramparts, ditches, and other details loomed hugely, gigantic and undefined. The writer seemed to perceive also fitful movements of something without shape or substance, and, whether preceding, accompanying or following, the motion had some sort of relation to his own – a rare phenomenon which arose from a quick flash of light from the sun casting trembling and uncertainshadows on the yet partially dense body of the mist. When the mist quickly unrolled, the sun broke out, and the whole place was bathed in the bright sunlight of the fully opened day.

And I think that’s as close as he’ll come to admitting he was a little freaked out. From James Barbour’s account of Agricola’s Well on Birrenswark Hill, in the 1911/12 Transactions and Journal of the Proceedings of the Dumfriesshire and Galloway Natural History and Antiquarian Society.

This little area near Foel and Garthbeibio has / had quite a few stoney and watery things of interest.

The cairn is where the Afon Banwy and the Afon Twrch converge. I’m guessing it’s the one mentioned here. A couple of pages on another cairn is mentioned (Cae’r Dentyr Cairn) which was very nearby, and the stones from that were taken for the nearby bridge.

Also close by was an immense stone, ‘Y Maen Llwyd’ (the story is told at Llymystyn Camp, where it was apparently thrown from), but this was regrettably broken up in the early 19th century to help make a wall.

There are three wells: Ffynnon Ddu (on the lane on the way to St Tydecho’s church); Ffynnon Rhigos (‘formerly of repute “in healing the eyes.” The water, sweetened with sugar, used to be drunk by the parishioners upon certain feasts‘); and St Tydecho’s Well itself: ‘This is now filled up, and the water diverted to a drain which runs down to the high road below St. Tydecho’s church. “There was once an image of the saint’s head, in stone, placed at the northern side of the well; but some vandals, having no regard for remains of antiquity, nor even respect for common decency, threw it away; and the last heard of it was a plaything on the side of the river among some children, who, in the end, threw it in, and no more was heard of it” (Mont. Coll. 1873, vi, 13). Parishioners yet survive who remember persons coming to bathe in this well, which was of reputed efficacy for the cure of rheumatism.‘

Standing stone, celtic christianity, holy water, cairns, a confluence, a disembodied head? It’s tempting to put all these romantic notions together and conclude this was quite a special location. (and maybe make 2+2=5 of course).

A field on the farm of Maes Teran, and bordering on Ffridd Wyllt. Here is a small grey stone or boulder, 3 feet above ground and 12 feet in girth, which, it is said locally, “was pitched there by the strong man from Cader Idris.” – Visited 7th June, 1910.

From An inventory of the ancient and historical monuments of the county of Montgomery (1911).

At Crieff, in Perthshire, there occurs a series of low hills running parallel to the Grampians. These hills consist of old red sandstone and greywacke. On one of them, the Cnock, the village of Crieff is built. Upon the south-east side of this hill, towards the southern extremity, not far from the summit, there are deposited a number of boulder stones of syenitic granite. The largest of these is called the cradlestone. It is nearly spherical, quite smooth on the surface, and 29 feet in circumference. It has been split in two by lightning, (according to the tradition of the place,) and one of the fragments has made one complete revolution down the hill and then stopped. The weight of this boulder is about 30 tons. The nearest mountains of syenitic granite, are those in the neighbourhood of Bennevis, distant more than 60 miles north-west [...]

In Thomas Thomson’s ‘Outlines of mineralogy, geology and mineral analysis‘ volume 2, 1836.

Ua-var, as the name is pronounced, or more properly Uaighmor, is a mountain to the north-east of the village of Callender in Menteith, deriving its name, which signifies the great den, or cavern, from a sort of retreat among the rocks on the south side, said, by tradition, to have been the abode of a giant. In latter times, it was the refuge of robbers and banditti, who have been only extirpated within these forty or fifty years. Strictly speaking, this stronghold is not a cave, as the name would imply, but a sort of small enclosure, or recess, surrounded with large rocks, and open above head. It may have been originally designed as a toil for deer, who might get in from the outside, but would find it difficult to return. This opinion prevails among the old sportsmen and deer-stalkers in the neighbourhood.

From an appendix to ‘The lady of the lake in six cantos‘ by Walter Scott (1835). Uamh Mhor is marked just to the south of Uamh Bheag.

[The previous poem’s description] of the Duergar corresponds exactly with the following Northumbrian legend, with which i was lately favoured by my learned and kind friend, Mr. Surtees of Mainsforth, who has bestowed indefatigable labour upon the antiquities of the English Border counties. The subject is in itself so curious, that the length of the note will, I hope, be pardoned.

“I have only one record to offer of the appearance of our Northumbrian Duergar. My narratrix is Elizabeth Cockburn, an old wife of Offerton, in this county, whose credit, in a case of this kind, will not, I hope, be much impeached, when I add, that she is, by her dull neighbours, supposed to be occasionally insane, but, by herself, to be at those times endowed with a faculty of seeing visions, and spectral appearances, which shun the common ken.

“In the year before the great rebellion, two young men from Newcastle were sporting on the high moors above Elsdon, and after pursuing their game several hours, sat down to dine in a green glen, near one of the mountain streams. After their repast, the younger lad ran to the brook for water, and after stooping to drink, was surprised, on lifting his head again, by the appearance of a brown dwarf, who stood on a crag covered with brackens, across the burn.

This extraordinary personage did not appear to be above half the stature of a common man, but was uncommonly stout and broad-built, having the appearance of vast strength. His dress was entirely brown, the colour of the brackens, and his head covered with frizzled red hair. His countenance was expressive of the most savage ferocity, and his eyes glared like a bull.

It seems he addressed the young man first, threatening him with his vengeance, for having trespassed on his demesnes, and asking him if he knew in whose presence he stood? The youth replied, that he now supposed him to be the lord of the moors; that he offended through ignorance; and offered to bring him the game he had killed. The dwarf was a little mollified by this submission, but remarked, that nothing could be more offensive to him than such an offer, as he considered the wild animals as his subjects, and never failed to avenge their destruction. He condescended further to inform him, that he was, like himself, mortal, though of years far exceeding the lot of common humanity; and (what I should not have had an idea of) that he hoped for salvation. He never, he added, fed on anything that had life, but lived, in the summer, on whortle-berries, and in winter, on nuts and apples, of which he had great store in the woods.

Finally, he invited his new acquaintance to accompany him home, and partake his hospitality; an offer which the youth was on the point of accepting, and was just going to spring across the brook, (Which if he had done, says Elizabeth, the dwarf would certainly have torn him in pieces,) when his foot was arrested by the voice of his companion, who thought he had tarried long: and on looking round again, ‘the wee brown man was fled.’ The story adds, that he was imprudent enough to slight the admonition, and to sport over the moors on his way homewards: but soon after his return, he fell into a lingering disorder, and died within the year.”

This is from one of the appendices in ‘ The Lady of the Lake in Six Cantos‘ by Walter Scott (1835) but I believe it’s also told in volume 4 of Surtees’ History of Durham.

A curious superstition (says a Somersetshire correspondent) has come to light in Mid-Somerset. It seems that the labouring classes in that locality, like those of most other rural districts in England, hold or held sacred certain supposed prophecies of “Mother Shipton,” whose topographical knowledge, if we are to believe all that is said of her, must have been little less marvellous than her insight into the future.

Of these prophecies the most widely believed in had reference to the fate of Ham Hill, a large stone quarry in the neighbourhood of Yeovil, and a prominent feature of the landscape for miles around. It was to the effect that at twelve o’clock on the Good Friday of 1879 Ham Hill should suddenly be swallowed up by an earthquake, and that at the same time Yeovil should be visited by a tremendous flood. With such real anxiety was last Friday looked forward to, in consequence, that people actually left the locality with their families and went to stay with their friends in other parts of the county until the dreaded “visitation” should be over; others, whose faith was less robust, nevertheless thought it advisable to remove their pots and pans from the shelves of their cupboards and to stow away their clocks and looking-glasses in places where they were not likely to be shattered by the shock of the earthquake; others, again, suspended gardening operations for a day or two, thinking it mere waste to commit good seed to the earth that was likely to behave so treacherously.

On the morning of Good Friday itself large numbers of people – many of them from a distance – flocked to the spot, or as near to the spot as they dared venture, to await, half incredulous and half in terror, the stroke of twelve and the fulfilment of the prophecy. When, however, the appointed hour had passed, and Ham Hill still stood unabashed, they began to look sheepishly into each other’s faces and to move away. At present in Mid-Somerset Mother Shipton and her prophecies are somewhat “at a discount.”

Those crazy provincials. From the Pall Mall Gazette for April 14th, 1879.

... the ox foot stone, which lies in a meadow, so called: it is a large stone of the pebble kind, on which is the fair impression of an ox’s foot, which seems to be natural. The tradition or fable is, that in a great dearth, (nobody knows when,) there came a cow constantly to that place, which suffered herself to be milked, (as long as the dearth lasted,) by the poor people, but when that decreased, she struck her foot against that stone, which made the impression, and immediately disappeared. This wonder however, is evidently the exuvial mark of some bivalve shell, once imbedded in the fossil.

From A General History of the County of Norfolk volume 2, by John Chambers (1829).

On the farm of Upper Arvie, now Ken-Ervie, “There is,” says the Rev. Mr. Crosbie, in the Statistical Account, “a flat stone about three feet in diameter, on which are the marks of what might be supposed a cow’s foot, a horse shoe, the four nails on each side being very distinct, and the impression which might be made by a man’s foot and knee while he was in the act of kneeling, the knot of the garter being quite evident. The tradition connected with this remarkable stone, commonly called the ‘Cow Clout,’ is, that the proprietor, in order to get up arrears of rent, ‘drave the pun,’ or, in other words, carried off the hypothecated stock, while a fierce resistance was made by the people, and that over this stone, on which a man had just been praying for relief against his enemies, the cattle passed, followed by an officer on horseback, and that it remains as a memorial to posterity of the cruel deed.”

This rock, with the ‘Cow’s Clout,’ etc., on it, [...] stands about 100 yards to the north of the march dyke betwixt Upper Ervie now Ken-Ervie and Nether Ervie. There is little to indicate its whereabouts, but the visitor coming from Kenmure Bridge, and leaving the road on the left, opposite Ringour and Bennan farms, on the opposite side of Loch Ken, would come upon it without much trouble by following the march dyke half a mile up.

From Rambles in Galloway by Malcolm McLachlan Harper (1876). Unfortunately the sketch of the stone isn’t included in the scan. Harpur also recounts a similarish story about St Ninian in which a bull impresses its footprint on a rock.

Giant’s Stone. St. Andrews.

About two miles west of St. Andrews, on the estate of Mount Melville, there is a conglomerate boulder 8 by 6 by 3 feet, pretty well rounded. It has been lodged on the bank of a valley, which bank faces the west... The nearest conglomerate rock is distant many miles to the north-west. There is a legend connected with this boulder as follows:

At the time St. Regulus built the Four Knockit steeple at St. Andrews, there lived a giant at Drumcarro Crags, a hill situated about five miles to the west; he was enraged at seeing this building rising up, and he resolved to demolish it, – so, having found a large stone, he borrowed his mother’s apron to use it as a sling for the stone in order to hurl it against the new building. But when in the act of throwing it, the apron burst under the weight of the stone, and it fell short of the object at which it was aimed and rested on the bank where it now lies.

This legend receives geological confirmation in the circumstance that Drumcarro Crags bear about W.N.W. from the boulder, and judging by the situation of the nearest conglomerate rock, that was the direction from which the boulder must have come.

(Mount Melville is at NO483147, though I don’t know if the hurled stone is still there). The story is collected in ‘County Folklore VII – Fife‘ (1914).

The stones in the story fell very close to the fort here. They’re not even mentioned on the 25” map. But you’d like to hope one might survive yet.

The De’il’s Stane. Waltonhill.

Once upon a time, so runs the legend, Samson challenged the devil to match him at boulder throwing. As challenger, Samson stood on the West Lomond; Satan stood on the East. The signal was given; two mighty rocks whistled through the air. “The De’il’s stane” fell where it now lies, on the road-side about a quarter of a mile west from Waltonhill Farm. Samson, though handicapped by three miles greater distance, flung his stone fully four hundred yards beyond that of Satan, and with such force that it split into three parts; which parts are now built into Waltonhill barn.

From the Fife Herald and Journal 1st November 1905, but collected here in the Folklore Society’s collection from Fife.

The Blue Stone of Crail.
This large blue stone, measuring about four feet in diameter, lies in the open space in front of the now disused east school, at the corner of the street, and about thirty yards south from the churchyard gate.

The legend runs that the arch-fiend, bearing some especial grudge against the church of Crail, took his stand upon the Isle of May, and thence threw a huge rock at the building. The missile, however, split during its flight into two pieces, of which the smaller one (bearing the impress of his satanic majesty’s thumb) kept its intended course, falling but a few yards short of the church, while the other larger portion slanted off to the east and lit upon Balcomie sands – both fragments remaining to this day (thumb mark and all), to give ocular demonstration of the truth of the story.

Collected by John Ewart Simpkins in County Folklore vVII – Fife (1914). He also mentions this snippet in ‘The Fringes of Fife‘ by John Geddie (1900):

At the corner of the high-way is the ‘Blue Stone of Crail’. It is the local fetish; and Crail bairns used to kiss it in leaving the old town, in pledge of their return.

“Carlin Maggie” and “The Devil’s Burden.”

The narrow gorge of Glenvale between West Lomond Hill and Bishop Hill was formerly the haunt of witches, of whom “Carlin Maggie” was the chief. Seeing Satan approach bearing a burden of rocks she took her stand upon the Bishop’s Hill and “flyted” him. He let fall his load upon the hill side, pursued her, and turned her to stone on the precipitous slope overlooking Lochleven, where the monolithic rock of Carlin Maggie and the scattered Devil’s Burden are prominent objects in the landscape to this day. The legend is told in verse in Gulland [’The Lomond Hills’ 1877].

In ‘County Folklore volume VII – Fife‘ collected by John Ewart Simpkins (1914).

He’s probably making it up but a stone with this name needs an explanation.

The “Gallowstone” on the top of Cultra Hill marks, no doubt, the place of execution for those condemned to death in the court of the proprietor of Cultra or Balmerino, and in that of the Abbot’s Bailie of later times...

Some years ago this stone was greatly injured in an attempt by some persons in the neighbourhood to find treasure under it. It is said to have been previously twice its present size, and to have rested on several smaller blocks of stone; in fact, to have resembled a cromlech. Perhaps its later name disguises its earlier use.

The RCAHMS record says that this is a ‘much reduced’ cairn, and the gallowstone is probably the capstone of a chamber. The stone is a massive 1.8 x 1.3m.

From Balmerino and its Abbey by James Campbell (1867).

The souterrain here is right on top of the hill. The RCAHMS record says it has 10 steps down to a sandy floor. The walls and ceiling are pieces of sandstone, with no mortar. There is a carved stone ‘6” square, marked by thin concentric lines, with a circular hollow in the centre, 3” in diameter and 1 1/4” deep’, but it’s said not to be in the cup-and-ring ‘class’, so make of that what you will.

Supposedly, the souterrain was discovered in 1878, although ‘1200’ is said to be engraved on a stone, with the implication made that this was a date of previous discovery. Whatever, this spot is surely the place of the following folklore (the hill is now ‘Coalyard Hill’ on the map) and maybe a dim awareness of the souterrain added to its strange reputation.

Calliard Hill – A gradually rising eminence betwixt St Monance and Elie, reported in tradition as the principal arena where warlocks, witches, kelpies, and other imaginary beings, hold their midnight revels, and carry on their incantations, seizing the benighted travellers, dragging them off their course, or tossing them in the air like feathers in the whirlwind. Even in the nineteenth century, a man was taken from that enchanted eminence and carried nine times round Kilconquhar Loch, without the use of any of his locomotive faculties. Such is stated to have been the declaration of the spell-bound individual himself.

From An Historical Account of St. Monance Fifeshire by John Jack, 1844.

There was also supposed to be another souterrain, now gone, at NO 5027 0094.

In the quaint dirty tumbledown City of Poitiers, Dr. Veryard detected a marvel which escaped my observation. It consisted in a stone, twenty-five feet high, sixty in compass, and supported by five small ones. ‘Some will needs have S. Aldegonde to have brought it hither on her shoulders, with the five supporters in her apron, and that, letting one fall by the way, the devil took it up, and following her to the place where she erected the stone on four pillars, set the fifth in the middle; but, cunning artificer as he is, he could not make it touch the great stone by an inch, nor does it to this day‘.

Quoted in Devon and Cornwall Notes and Queries, but originally in notes from the start of the 18th century. Twenty five feet high is somewhat of a misremembering / massive exaggeration!

About fifteen miles to the westward of Crickaeth there is a lofty hill, called Carn Madryn, which is noted for having been a strong hold of Roderick and Maelgwyn, the sons of Owen Gwyneth.

There are many remains of fortifications upon it, from which may be ascertained what was the state of architecture at an early period among the Welsh. “the bottom, sides, and top are filled with cells, oblong, oval, or circular, once thatched, or covered from the inclemency of the weather: many of them are pretty entire. The chieftains resided on the top; the people of the country, with their cattle, in times of invasion, occupied the sides and bottom.” (Pennant).

The stones of the walls are not connected by cement, but are thrown roughly together, and with infinitely less attention to neatness and arrangement than would be observed by a Briton of the present day in the construction of a pig-sty.

A pig-sty? a bit harsh, it is thousands of years old. It’s hard to know from this if the Owain Gwynedd (a prince of North Wales) connection is a folk story or something dreamt up by historian types.
From “A voyage round Great Britain, undertaken in the summer of the year 1813..” by Richard Ayton and William Daniell.

A steep and narrow path leads down to the sanctuary, but the descent is facilitated by a flight of steps cut in the rocks; fifty-two steps a man would say who went boring to work by the ordinary rules of calculation, but it is very well known in these parts, that you might as well attempt to count the grains of sand on the sea-shore as to tell the number of these mystic steps.

... Our guide, anxious to witness the full confirmation of our faith, accompanied us into the interior [of the chape], where we beheld, suspended from the walls, several crutches, which had supported the crippled and credulous to the well, and which were hung up here in testimony of their cure, and as offerings of gratitude to their gracious deliverer.

With this strong hold upon our minds, our guide ventured to bring our belief to new trials, and leading us to a small doorway in the east wall of the chapel, pointed out a circular cavity in the rock, large enough to hold the body of a man. Into this we were to creep, and then to form what wishes were most agreeable to ourselves, which were certainly to be granted, providing that they did not prove disagreeable to the saint.

This little cell was formed by a miracle; the saint was once pursued by some barbarous pagans, and was running wildly about his cave, not knowing whither to turn for safety, when the rocks suddenly opened to receive him, and thus preserved his valuable life.

The two adventurers then meet a girl and a boy who have been drinking the charmed water from the well (regrettably with no benefit). From A voyage round Great Britain, undertaken in the summer of the year 1813 by Richard Ayton and William Daniell.

The authors also mention Bosherton Mere, an amazing natural spectacle very close to the chapel. You can see Sid Howells’ picture here on geograph:
https://www.geograph.org.uk/photo/1581454

... We came to Tintagell Head, a spot more than commonly interesting, not only from the grandeur of its local scenery, but its connection with names and events of our remotest history.

This promontory was once entirely separated from the mainland, but is now connected with it at its base, by a mound of earth which has fallen from the cliffs above. We climbed up it by the best, and indeed the only path, a most frightful ascent over steps of rock, projecting, at very irregular intervals, from the side of a precipice.

On the top, which includes an area of about three acres of ground, are the ruins of a castle, once the residence of the earliest kings and dukes of Cornwall, and illustrious as the birthplace of the far-famed king Arthur.

Lord Bacon observes of this prince, that there is truth enough in his history to make him famous, besides that which is fabulous; determining, I suppose, that all is true, except what is outrageously impossible. All authorities decide that he was born in Tintagell castle, and I see no reason for questioning the fact, provided we admit he was born at all. After having accomplished many deeds that were inconceivably glorious, and have already filled too many volumes to require any illustration from me, he received his daeth blow in a battle with his rebellious relation, Mordred, near Camelford, and not many miles from Tintagell.

[...] I should advise all visitors to Tintagell to content themselves with thus imagining a castle for king Arthur, for I can assure them that, though they may sacrifice their lives by attempting to reach the summit of the promontory, they can see nothing there but the rubbish of an old wall, out of which imagination will be infinitely more puzzled to construct a castle than out of the rocks below

From ‘A voyage round Great Britain, undertaken in the summer of the year 1813’, by Richard Ayton and William Daniell (a pair who look very dapper in their portraits, and who are (sometimes) refreshingly sympathetic to the poor and their living conditions).

An older version of something mentioned by Bottrell:

A short distance from the Cove a mysterious cave was pointed out to us, called Pendeen-Vau, which is conceived by the rustics to be interminable, for they had penetrated at least fifty yards, and still, found no end. At the entrance of it there appeared some years ago a strange lady with a red rose in her mouth, for what purpose it was not easy to ascertain, for the good people seemed unwilling to allow their imaginations to dwell on the possible horrors of the circumstance. This cave was probably used in remote ages as a place of concealment for property during times of war and invasion.

From A Voyage Round Great Britain undertaken in the summer of 1813’ by Richard Ayton.

In many parts of Sweden, these cup-marked boulders are known as elf-stenar, and are still believed by the common people to possess curative powers. They say prayers, and make vows at them, anoint the cups with fat (usually hog’s lard), place offerings of pins and small copper coins in them, and when they are sick, they make small dolls or images of rags, to be laid in them. These facts are stated in the Manadsblad of the Swedish Academy of Science. Miss Mestorf, as quoted by Mr. Rau, is more explicit:-

“The elfs are the souls of the dead; they frequently dwell in or below stones, and stand in various relations to the living. If their quiet is disturbed, or their dwelling-place desecrated, or if due respect is not paid to them, they will revenge themselves by afflicting the perpetrators with diseases or other misfortunes. For this reason, people take care to secure the favour of the “little ones” by sacrifices, or to pacify them when offended. Their claims are very modest: a little butter or grease, a copper coin, a flower, or ribbon, will satisfy them. If they have inflicted disease, some object worn by the sick person, such as a pin, or button, will reconcile them.

A Swedish proprietor of an estate in Uppland, who had caused an elf-stone to be transported to his park, found, a few days afterwards, small sacrificial gifts lying in the cups. in the Stockholm Museum are preserved rag dolls, which had been found upon an elf-stone.”

In Nature v26 (1882).